


The Blizzard of '58

by Kiraly



Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: F/M, Ficlet, Flirting, Snowed In
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 07:27:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10238984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiraly/pseuds/Kiraly
Summary: A snowstorm keeps Asbjørn and Solveig from going to work. They take advantage of the free time.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this week's Synchronised Screaming challenge. The prompt was Asbjørn/Solveig - snowed-in.

_ Dalsnes. The February Blizzard of Year 58 _

“It’s really coming down out there,” Asbjørn says, closing the door behind him. Snow carpets his hair and shoulders, and flies in every direction as he stomps to clear his boots. When he removes his cloak, a veritable avalanche hits the floor. Solveig pauses in the middle of lacing her own boots.

“Wait, what are you doing? We have to go right back out as soon as I finish dressing.” It’s cute, really, how Asbjørn has started showing up to walk with her on the way to their post every evening. The gesture reminds her of the old stories, when people would do that kind of thing in the name of ‘protecting’ their loved ones. Nevermind that Solveig has killed a troll with her bare hands more than once, and lost count of how many times she’s saved Asbjørn’s ass over the years. He’s saved hers, too, but that’s beside the point.

Speaking of his ass, she gets a nice view of it now, as he bends over to fumble with his snow-crusted bootlaces. “I ran into Frida on my way over here, she said not to bother. It’s total whiteout conditions, you can’t even see the trees. Won’t be any trolls moving out there, so there’s no sense in us freezing to death.” He gets the boots off and straightens up—what a shame—and tiptoes carefully between puddles of water until he gets to the dry part of the floor. He sinks down onto the bench beside her.

“So we have the night off,” Solveig says. She eyes Asbjørn. “If that’s the case, why did you come here instead of going home?” She suspects she knows the answer, but it’s high time for him to come out and say it.

“Ah. Well,” he hesitates, and his face is an endearing mix between bashful and seductive, “I was kind of hoping to get snowed in with you.” He grins then, and there’s a hint of that spark he gets when he’s hunting trolls. “If you’re up for it, anyway.”

Now it’s Solveig’s turn to grin. “I thought you’d never ask.” She closes the distance between them, cupping his jaw in her hand. She runs her thumb along the stubble—gods, she’s been thinking about doing that for  _ weeks— _ and kisses him squarely on the mouth. Asbjørn’s grunt of surprise quickly turns into a deep, satisfied rumble. 

“I thought I’d have to work a lot harder to convince you,” he mutters, when they pause for breath. “Grovel a little. Promise to kill a thousand trolls, or run naked through the snow.” He shows no sign of regret, though; one of his hands twines through her hair, while the other has drifted considerably lower.

“Mmm. That does sound good,” Solveig says, “Maybe you can do some of it. I certainly plan to go on killing trolls with you, so I’m sure we’ll get to a thousand eventually.” She presses against him, but grimaces when her hand encounters a damp patch—his clothes are soaked with melted snow. “And maybe part of the other thing you said, too.”

Asbjørn raises an eyebrow. “What part is that?”

Solveig stands and tugs Asbjørn to his feet. “Well, you already ran through the snow, and you’re dripping it all over my floor. So I guess all that’s left is the ‘naked’ part.”

**Author's Note:**

> The date of this fic may or may not have been calculated for a particular reason. Let's just assume Sigrun was born around October or November, okay? ;D


End file.
